Acts of Kindness
by usa123
Summary: Deleted scenes from Operation: Christmas Presents. What Natasha, Clint and Coulson did to welcome Bucky to life outside of Hydra. No slash, no ships, no spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Before you-cant-just-import-answer convinced me to draw _Operation: Christmas Presents_ out into 'a present a chapter' fic, the original draft contained flashbacks of what Bucky's friends did to help him adjust to his new life. Though they didn't make it into the final draft** **, I'd already written three of the flashbacks and, since they're currently gathering dust on my hard drive, I thought I'd share for anyone who was interested.**

 **So, without further ado, how Natasha endeared herself to Bucky after a fighting proficiency exam goes poorly.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please don't sue.**

* * *

Less than a month after he'd been brought to the Tower, Bucky was curled up on the couch in the common room, his knees against his chest, watching the amazing quality of Stark's HD television. He wasn't really paying attention to what was onscreen though, his mind stuck replaying the day's earlier events.

Ever since coming out of hiding, Bucky had wanted to return to the field to try to atone for what he had done as The Soldier _._ In order to do that though, he needed to pass the field tests that all other SHIELD agents were forced to undergo. One of these was a hand-to-hand proficiency exam.

He'd been sparring with a cadet in his thirties who was fairly skilled, making this more of a workout than Bucky would have imagined. It had almost been _fun_ until Bucky had knocked the man's oncoming blow aside and had whipped his head around to track the cadet's chin which was the target of his upcoming right hook. His sweaty hair however had stuck to his face and obscured his vision, forcing Bucky to bring up his other arm to clear his line of sight.

In that split second, the other agent pounced. He reared back on one leg and landed a roundhouse kick to Bucky's chest, snapping the air out of his lungs. Before he could regain his breath, his Soldier training kicked in and Bucky momentarily blacked out.

When the world came back into focus, Barnes was kneeling over his opponent, using his shins to pin the agent's arms, his metal fist raised to deliver a crushing and powerful blow. And suddenly that agent wasn't dark-haired and green-eyed: he was blond, blue-eyed and resembled Steve.

Bucky threw himself off the agent before he could land the blow. "I'm done for the day," he murmured, scrambling to his feet and walking quickly toward the door.

That was it. He knew he wouldn't be let back into the field until he got those lapses under control. He was just glad he'd snapped out of the Hydra-induced trance before the other agent had been seriously injured.

As he stepped into the hallway, the security team—who, for the record, he could have easily taken out if he wanted to—swarmed around him and escorted him directly back to the Tower where he'd showered then plopped down in front of the television.

He heard the elevator ding an indeterminate amount of time later and looked up to see Natasha walk in, a small bag in her hand. She sat down on the far end of the couch, gently laid her purchase on the ground then tucked her legs underneath her.

Bucky watched her for another moment but, when she didn't initiate a conversation, turned back to the television, secretly glad for the silent company.

It was only when the program faded to a commercial break at the top of the hour that Natasha asked, "Do you like your hair that long?"

Bucky considered this for a long moment. Back when he was with Hydra, things like hygiene weren't given a high priority so his hair had been greasy more often than not. It'd ended up being an advantage since he could push it out of his face in the middle of a mission and it would stay. Now that he was trying to abide by cultural norms of showering at least once every two days—more often if he worked out—he found that his hair did what it wanted, no matter how much work he put into it. It even had the audacity to _pouf_ if the humidity was high enough.

But whether he _liked_ it that long or not was a different story. He'd been told what to do and how to act for so long that he was still learning what he did and didn't enjoy. He hadn't minded his hair until today, when it had caused a very serious issue. While that was enough proof for him to acknowledge that a change needed to be made, he wasn't sure he was ready to drop his current style for the 1940's Bucky Barnes cut from the pictures he'd seen in the museum.

"I don't know," he finally said, immediately dropping his eyes so as not to see Natasha's expression.

To his great surprise, she just said, "That's okay. It took me a while too," in a tone devoid of any spite or pleasure.

His curiosity piqued, he looked up to see her grab the small plastic bag on the ground. "Until you decide, take one of these," she continued, pulling out a white piece of cardboard with small colorful rings wrapped around it. She easily slid a blue ring off the cardboard and held it out to him.

He took it, holding it gingerly between his thumb and index finger, and stared at it in confusion. "What do I do with it?"

She smiled, but it wasn't cruel like he was used to—her smile was filled with warmth and maybe a little sadness and somehow he _knew_ she understood what he was going through. "You tie your hair back with it," she explained then demonstrated by pulling a band from her own wrist and wrapping her hair into a low ponytail.

Bucky looked at her hesitantly. "I don't—"

"It's in these days." She retrieved her phone from her pocket and, after a few seconds of tapping, pulled up pictures of men wearing their hair exactly as she was encouraging Bucky to do.

He still didn't look quite convinced but, at her encouraging nod, attempted to follow her example, careful to keep his hair from getting caught in the plates of his left hand. When he had it all gathered, he twisted the band around it then let go. The ponytail held for a split second before a large chunk from over his left ear somehow escaped flopped back into his face.

He looked up, expecting to see Natasha laughing at his inability to perform such a simple task but she just shrugged. "I'll admit it does take some practice." Then she stood up and walked over to him, being sure to telegraph her every move. "I can do it for you now, if you want."

She waited until he nodded before walking around to the back of the couch and gently grabbing his damp hair in her left hand. She used the fingers on her other hand to brush his bangs toward the back of his head then deftly secured the entire bunch with the hair tie she snagged from his fingers. "Just like that."

Bucky took a minute to absorb the feeling of not having his hair dangling in his face. He shook his head slowly back and forth and grinned when his vision remained clear.

"Thanks," he enthused, glancing over his shoulder to look at Natasha, who returned his smile then smirked, "But wait, there's more."

Mild panic raced through Bucky's chest but he forced himself to relax as she redid his ponytail. The end result felt almost the same to him, except that he couldn't feel the tips of his hair dangling against his neck.

"This is called a man bun." Natasha snapped a picture of the hairstyle, then held her phone over his shoulder so he could see how his hair was looped at the end, having not been pulled entirely through the hair tie.

"It's…odd," he finally decided after carefully examining the picture and feeling the loop with his own fingers.

"You don't have to like it. I'm just showing you your options." As she spoke, Natasha gently dislodged the hair tie without yanking out any of his hair. "Or, you can just pull it out of your face." She placed her pinkies by his ears then pulled backward, picking up more hair as she went along. When her hands met in back, she quickly secured the little tail.

She took a picture of this too and held it out to him. "What do you think?"

"I think I like the regular ponytail," Bucky decided, after shaking his head yet again. Yes, his bangs were out of his face, which was preferable, but the lower hairs could still whip around distractingly during fights.

"Okay," Natasha smiled warmly as she loosed the hair tie and pulled his hair into the style he requested. Then, she walked over to the far end of the couch and tossed the packet of hair ties into his lap.

"Sparring tomorrow?" she asked as she headed for the stairwell. "Noon?"

Bucky nodded, his hair staying firmly secured in his new ponytail. "I'll be there."


	2. Chapter 2

**How Coulson distracted Bucky with _Star Wars_ while the Avengers were on a mission.**

* * *

Phil Coulson heard approaching footsteps and looked up to see Bucky Barnes pace past his doorway and continue down the long hallway of SHIELD HQ. He had been doing this for so long that Phil knew it would take exactly 128 seconds for Bucky to reach the far end of the hallway, turn around, and pass his office from the other direction. It was Bucky's way of (pseudo-positively) expressing his frustration with the state of the Avengers' current mission.

The team was currently in the Ukraine, taking out a known supervillain's base. They were only supposed to have been gone for two days, flight time included. Yet it had been five, with no radio contact or GPS location since day three.

To his credit, Bucky had kept his distance for the first seventy-two hours, at which point he'd graduated to texting Coulson once an hour for the next eighteen. Coulson knew it was only a matter of time before Barnes showed up at headquarters so he wasn't at all surprised to find Bucky outside his office when he returned from a sitrep the morning of the fifth day.

Upon learning that the Director had no idea where the team was, Bucky had immediately began what Coulson quickly recognized as Bruce's breathing exercises. In lieu of doing something drastic (which Phil had been sure was next on the agenda), Bucky had just begun pacing, his feet moving in time to his breaths. Coulson was fine with this coping mechanism since it was a much preferred option to mass destruction but, unfortunately, Barnes was still scaring the other agents who wanted to use the hallway. Most shot him cautious yet concerned looks then quickly set off to find a different way to their desired location.

After the fifth phone call from a high-ranking SHIELD official and the third probie who sprinted by at top speed, glancing over their shoulder in genuine fear, Coulson knew he had to act before the agency underwent into a complete meltdown. "Bucky, you're going to wear a hole in my floor," he quipped, poking his head out the door.

"Any news?" Bucky asked mechanically as if Coulson hadn't spoken first. He looked up from the ground and made eye contact with Phil for the first time since this morning.

"Not yet."

"Oh." Bucky looked down and resumed pacing.

"Sergeant," Coulson tried again, "I can't have you pacing here."

"Oh," Bucky repeated, stuttering to a stop. "Sorry."

"We know you're worried. Hell, we all are, but you can't just stop your life while they're not here."

"Does that mean you're going to let me go after them?" Bucky's face brightened slightly at that thought, especially since he'd been originally told by Fury that he wasn't ready for a mission of this caliber.

Coulson shook his head. "We can't risk any more exposure... _But_ , I can help you take your mind off it." Phil grabbed his tablet from the bookshelf and typed quickly into the search bar. As a kid, he had been as much a fan of Bucky Barnes as he was Captain America (who wouldn't want to hang out with Steve Rogers all day?), so he was well aware of 1940's Bucky's well-documented love of science fiction.

"Here," Coulson finally said, holding out the tablet to Bucky after finding the webpage he wanted.

Barnes exhaled loudly then grudgingly walked over to look at the screen. "What's _Star Wars_?" he asked as he took the tablet in his flesh hand.

"It's a movie. Takes place in space." Then Coulson paused, furrowing his brow in thought. "Actually, it doesn't make much sense if I try and explain the plot. You're just going to have to trust me when I say you're going to love it."

Phil wasn't sure what kind of response he was expecting but Bucky staring hesitantly at the screen without speaking definitely wasn't it. "You still like science fiction?" he asked after a long moment.

Bucky nodded.

"Then you'll really enjoy these movies."

"I can't just _watch_ _movies,_ " Barnes said the last two words with disdain, as if they personally offended him, "while the team is—"

Coulson shook his head, cutting off the rest of Bucky's statement. "You can and you will. I need my hallway back." When Bucky still didn't look convinced, Coulson rubbed at the bridge of his nose and let out a long-suffering sigh. "Just give it a try," he pleaded with mild exasperation. "Start with the fourth one. If you really don't like it after half an hour, you don't have to finish it."

Realizing he didn't really have a choice, Bucky nodded, then walked over to the wall and started to sit down on the attached bench.

"It's not loaded onto the tablet," Phil interjected, sending Bucky springing back to his feet. "The DVDs are in the rec room, left cabinet, top shelf. I promise I'll call you if I hear anything."

Barnes scowled but did eventually ground out an "Alright," as he headed for the rec room.

As soon as the hallway was once again clear, Coulson dropped back into his chair, taking just a moment to absorb the peaceful silence, before returning to trying to locate the Avengers.

* * *

Two hours later, Coulson looked up from his computer screen to see blurry Bucky standing outside his door.

"Well," Phil asked, blinking the former Soldier into focus.

"Is there more?" Bucky asked, his eyes shining with an excitement Phil had never seen before.

"There are fi—four more. You'll want to watch them in this order: 4, 5, 2, 3, 6."

"What about the first one?"

"It's not worth your time. Trust me."

And this time, Bucky did.

* * *

The Avengers returned just before the _Episode III_ began. Quickly realizing how excited Bucky was about the films but how unwilling he was to let them all out of his sight until he was sure they weren't injured, the team all piled onto the sofa in the rec room and watched the last two movies together.

It was only after the credits for _Episode VI_ were rolling that Bucky asked why he wasn't supposed to watch them in order, which merited a long discussion from Tony, Bruce and Clint about which order was "right". Bucky listened intently to about half of it, before the conversation turned to the Ewoks and their role in the film, at which point he looked over at Steve, who was smiling idiotically at him.

"What?"

"Anybody in that movie look familiar?" Steve asked, his eyes wide with glee.

Bucky mentally played back the most important scenes in each film. "No," he finally decided.

"Try again." Steve solemnly held out the DVD case and tapped Luke Skywalker's picture.

Bucky took a long look at the Jedi then made a face at Rogers. "He doesn't look anything like me."

"Yes he does. Ask the team."

Bucky rolled his eyes slowly and dramatically, then posed the question to the rest of the Avengers.

To his great surprise, he was met with a chorus of gasps and exclamations before the team began excitedly discussing the scientific possibility of him and Mark Hamill being related. In order to avoid their scrutinizing glances, Bucky climbed over the back of the couch and curled himself into as small a target as possible, fervently hoping they'd change the subject soon.

He heard a noise and glanced up to see Steve poking his head over the backrest, grinning widely.

"I hate you," Bucky scowled at his friend.

"It's the truth, Buck. Can't hate that."

"Watch me."

Steve shook his head and laughed under his breath. "You ready to get out of here?"

Bucky nodded.

Steve held up one finger, then two and, on three, they both took off for the door to the garage, knowing no one else on the team would be able to keep up.


	3. Chapter 3

**How Clint (or more appropriately Lucky) endeared himself to Bucky**

* * *

The sound of a loud thumping on his door startled Bucky out of the mind-numbing television he was watching. He instinctively reached under his pillow for his weapon but stopped when he heard Clint say, "It's me, Barnes. Open up."

Leaving the handgun, Bucky clicked off the television with the remote, then walked toward the door where he undid the three deadbolts and chain lock. He'd only opened the door a small crack when something crashed into his chest, knocking him backwards. The breath whooshed out of his lungs and his ears rang in panic. He reached for whatever it was and grabbed a fistful of…long silken hair?

His brain stuttered, most likely with lack of oxygen. He expected to feel a sharp metal edge against his throat, or hear the sound of a gun going off, but instead, a wet object wiped against his cheek repeatedly and hot breath blew into his face.

"Lucky!" he heard someone distantly shout and, suddenly, the weight was gone from his chest. "I'm so sorry!" someone…a male…Clint…apologized.

Still breathing hard, Bucky lifted his head to see Clint pushing down a yellowish dog's rear. The dog—Lucky, apparently—obediently sat but his tail continued to wag excitedly.

"He's usually much better trained than that." Clint gave his dog a deadly look that didn't last as Lucky continued to stare adoringly at his master.

"What the hell?" Bucky growled, drawing himself into a sitting position.

Clint, who apparently had no concept of personal space, walked into the room and sat on Bucky's bed. He clapped his thighs and the dog obediently ran over to him, sitting on Barton's feet and tilting his head back so Clint could scratch behind his ears. "When I got back from Afghanistan, everything was different. One of my friends runs a rescue and got me walking the dogs every weekend. It gave me purpose, made me feel good. Plus the dogs don't judge. They are happy for whatever attention you give them."

Bucky watched dog hair fly into the air and settle on his mattress. "So you thought—"

"You'd like petting him. Seriously, this dog lives for affection. He'd be pet 24/7 if you'd let him. You'd be doing me a favor." Clint made a pleading face and held his right wrist with his left hand, as if it were suddenly giving him problems.

"I don't know," Bucky said hesitantly as Lucky straightened up, his front feet pounding against the ground in excitement.

"Just give him one pet, and if you really hate it that much, we'll go."

One pet. That Bucky could do.

"Okay." Barnes held out his flesh hand and slowly reached for the dog who had fallen still, as if sensing Bucky's indecision. The second his palm landed on Lucky's head though, the dog's eyes closed expectantly and his tail thumped once against the carpet before he froze again. Bolstered by this show of faith, Bucky leaned forward slightly so he could push his hand down Lucky's head to the base of his neck.

"Perfect," Clint said and Lucky bucked against Barnes' hand. "See, he likes it."

Bucky hesitated, then pet Lucky again…and again…and again, a smile coming to his own face as Lucky's tail began wagging with fervor. "He likes _you_ ," Clint amended with his own grin.

Bucky rose to his knees and scooted forward so he could scratch the dog's back. Lucky responded by licking him in the face.

"He's not so bad," Bucky tried to say with a straight face but they both knew better.

After that, Clint brought Lucky over once a week, until Barnes felt comfortable enough leaving the house to go on walks with them. It took almost three months but eventually Bucky joined the same organization Clint had and walked shelter dogs on Saturdays.

It was his favorite part of the week.

* * *

 **And that's the last backstory I had written. I hope you enjoyed this mini-series!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


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